Lou Reed , Mistral of his time
so you walked this road on the wild side
unique in music , never selling out
believing in Art instead of commercialize
Lou Reed the musician never compromised ~
Sweet Jane not enough for our crowd of eccentric rockers
still will live forever with the many that left before you
one can imagine from John Lennon to Johnny Ramone
a party in Heaven of the finest rock bestowed
no text , no MTV when they pursued a dream
New York, hotel Chelsea an age of Renaissance
ragged jeans and leather jackets ,Art on stage
No, your Rock not ever fade away , it will stay sweet Jane forever ~
For the fine Man with words , ode to Lou Reed .
I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes,
your face was in the morning paper;
they shot you dead like a dog,
hunted you out all day and night.
They said you'd always been a bad seed
and youths were dying because of you;
they said you're a criminal on the run
with a dirty face and shaggy head.
But I know you better than they do,
you preached love to all the people;
you fought for them, young and old,
you lit up their nights with your heart.
And now as I see you lying dead,
it seems my dreams have vanished as well;
they can call you names, any names they want,
but I know there's only one like you,
there's only one like you,
there's only one Che Guevara.
You lit up their nights with your heart,
you lit up their nights with your heart,
you lit up their nights with your heart.
THEY graze in beauty on the land
of grassy glades and dewy dales,
and all that's best of dark and tanned
meets in their aspect and their tails;
thus mellowed to that tender hand
which Shepherd to gentle glen compels.
One fleece the more, one hair the less,
had half repaired the shearless grace
which wreathes in every woolen tress
or darkly tightens o'er their face,
where mouths serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their grazing-place.
And on that rump and o'er that round
so strong, so firm, yet elegant,
the baas that win, the hooves that bound,
but tell of days in meadows spent—
a flock at peace with all around,
a drove whose milk is innocent.
01/26/2014, "First Poem On Soup" Contest
These mouths of laugh
these traps of many
these winds as peas,
they grow;they are tall.
These fools to smiles
these miserable men of ham;
these slings of love
they fail;they are frail.
These fair feet;adorned
these skins of cherubs;rare
these sparks of peace,
they come;they go.
These rivers of soil
these soils of mud
these rocks are flakes
they sink not;they sail.
But yet even the emblem of love
becometh but fragile
even the light that was but:
dawns to darkness
so the joy is as a rock
In a sling it goes up hither;
but sooner falls.
These drains of sadness
these moments;but few
these peaks of joy
they;intense but brief.
These sobs of annoyance;
these moons at graves
these blues are silent,
they whisper;they are meek.
These lilies are not flowers
these twigs but roses
they enlighten;they are life.
These mountains of prophets
these seas of glass,
these heights of love,
they work no ill;they are joy.
These peaks of laugh
these deep winds,
these rare bushes of gloom,
they burn;it's passion.
The shadows know the scent of cloves,
as Nyx devolves from sleep's crossroad,
the night-owls croak to domes above,
her ode the stars turns to abode.
Her firmness strings the scene's stillness,
her laughter waves in hung ether,
small hours' submit her thoughts' steepness,
advancing 'mid green heather.
The night birds watch - with eyes of amber
night wraiths descend from stardome flare,
upon a sky-drome meander
that ghostly travelers time-share.
Brilliant's the moon in ventured glory,
above shapes lays and daunting wraiths,
her eminence surpassed souls' faith,
to hark the travelers' lone story.
And kind advanced to lands of blooms,
as night conveyed upon each breath,
she confers grand the kiss of death,
with fates to weave on lethal looms.
On darkened growth she shines dismal,
In Stygian reign she rules - abysmal,
enchanted souls shall dwell in void,
with Acheron's old paths destroyed.
© G.V. 10-03-2012, All Rights Reserved
Nyx = Night
Loveliness that's deep and that's rare
is like a rose that blooms afresh
(like the rosebud that's new and fair);
lovely in aspect and in flesh,
it lives in sunlight without care
letting all the sky breathe and mesh.
Its loveliness is hard to find
unspoiled and as innocent;
and with its tint and with its rind
it quells my musing discontent.
As it sighs (softly and from behind),
my nose takes in its lovely scent.
Its beauty transcends its locus,
imbuing the eyes of my soul
with romantic, ideal focus
that makes the heart and the mind whole:
without it the world seems callous
and grace would not be in control.
spokes of a turning wheel
strung with colored string
strumming fingers playing
plain and turning
and simply round and round
colors whirl up and around
up and down
music moving turning sound
swirl of colorful motion
jaunty ribbons of song
bright and shining
and lightly up and away
Oh how can one capture
Your beauty on paper
Without you evaporating
Off as it is your nature
The stars are your jewels
The moon is your crest
As if blessed
Your silence is serenity
That whisper to my thoughts
An overwhelming beauty
That ties my stomach up in knots
How humble I am sound
A beauty incomparable
With a radiance so profound
Your absence is unbearable
It does not cast a shadow,
Nor does it judge, mimic, or belittle,
But it is full of emotion,
When expressed, time stands still,
Ubiquitous to society,
And inspired by nature,
More valuable than gold,
But cannot be spent,
More real than the stars,
But cannot be seen nor touched,
It can calm the most incorrigible of people,
And create passion in the most stoic souls,
It remains the same,
But is constantly changing,
And is older than life,
But will never age nor die,
To move by it is beautiful,
But to create it is a gift from God…
Whenever tears roll down
and whether it brings joy, reward or pain:
it matters to someone
whose life, somehow, has broken him down,
or has lifted him up through grace;
it matters when one rejoices,
and sees in victory
what his bewildered eyes
couldn't ever have imagined it to be...
He chose the path to glory
without harboring suspicions,
or being frightened by unseen woes
and hard-and fast rules;
he made swift choices
and built up his courage from nothing;
and what his fearless mind couldn't perceive,
wasn't so impossible to dream,
but surely achieved
through grit and indisputable duty...
Whatever that solemn oath
relied on a certain promise, he never lost heart,
because his valor never seemed to lessen a bit;
and he was taken above and beyond his fears
by not foreseeing any disheartening defeat:
confidence had given his untiring feet a steady beat...
It matters to someone to be recognized,
and cherish that moment of gladness:
perhaps the only moment to be remembered
and be locked away in his past;
a brave soldier at his best,
never settling for anything less,
always going above and beyond his expectations,
to honor and safeguard the Country that he loves...